


shatter

by deniigiq



Series: Blindspot and the Ordeal of Being Known [15]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Gen, Identity Reveal, Mentors, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Self-Harm, Violence, guilt guilt guilt GUILT GUILT, like hello this is VERY sad please be warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: He squeezed his eyes shut to let them adjust. To make them water. Then he brought his face back up. Achara lunged back, gasping.“Wh—what are—what are those?” she gasped.Sam blinked once.“My penance,” he said. “These are the last things I have of my mom. You read the papers, didn’t you? A while back? There was a guy called—”“Muse.”Muse.The world froze.(Sam reveals his identity to Achara. Then Matt has to make a hard decision that sends him reeling.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Samuel Chung & Kirsten McDuffie & Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Samuel Chung & Matt Murdock
Series: Blindspot and the Ordeal of Being Known [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658656
Comments: 17
Kudos: 231





	shatter

**Author's Note:**

> for the love of god please read the tags and do what you need to to keep yourselves safe.

Sam reacted without thinking.

It was after closing. They were trying to lock up and this man bullied his way through the door as the last client left.

He wanted to see Kirsten. He was angry with her and said that she wouldn’t see him and he had a right to talk to her.

Sam saw the guy’s hand go behind his back and he saw the guy’s lip curl and it just happened in a split second.

Foggy diplomatically called it ‘de-escalating the situation.’

Kirsten called it ‘worthy of a gold star.’

Matt—

Matt was busy, you know. Laying on top of the fuckhead and twisting his arm harshly behind his back, asking him who the fuck he worked for and what game he thought he was playing.

Achara and Leilani looked a little pale and shaky, and Sam figured that watching your coworker round-house kick a gun out of someone’s hand would do that to you.

The following core-tackle probably hadn’t helped.

Matt coming tearing out of his office to leap over the front desk and snap the guy’s wrist to liberate the back-up knife would probably haunt them for the rest of their days. And so now they all had to sit here, gazing into each others’ eyes, in silence except for Matt snarling, “Yeah, sure pal. And I’m your mother. FESS UP.”

In this context, he sounded more than a little scary.

Foggy and Kirsten winced at the crack of a dislocated shoulder and a muffle scream.

“This is fine,” Foggy said with calming hands. “We’re all fine.”

Achara looked ready to cry.

“Matt’s just got a few anger issues that he’s working out with his therapist,” Foggy said. “And sometimes he takes them out on other people, and really, it’s better not to get in the way of—”

“You wanna chat? Or do you wanna _weep_? You come in here like some punk-ass, know-nothin’ motherfucker and you get up in _my_ staff’s face--”

DD, _please_.

You’re scaring the admin.

Foggy closed his eyes in defeat. Kirsten shifted her weight to the other foot.

“Welp,” she said. “I think that bird’s good and gone now, Fogs.”

There was a whimper in the back hallway.

“Oh, what? Now you’re gonna cry? Is that how it is?” Matt sneered back there in the dark.

 _DD, for fuck’s sake_.

“Achara,” Foggy said gently. “I know this is very scary and I’m sure very surprising, but—”

“Mr. Murdock just jumped over a table,” Achara deadpanned. “Blind people don’t jump over tables.”

Foggy sighed and deferred to Kirsten with pleading eyes. She shrugged.

“Our blind person is very talented,” she said.

“You kicked that guy’s hand,” Achara said at Sam, completely ignoring Kirsten.

Sam looked away.

He didn’t know what the game plan was, he just knew that that that giant meathead was sobbing his eyes out in the back, pleading with Matt to let him go and that he wouldn’t tell anyone anything. Matt scoffed.

There was no chance in hell.

“Who sent you?” Matt demanded. “The Hand? The Irish? The Russians? Who?”

The guy pleaded that it was no one, that he’d been hired by a third party. Matt asked him if he’d swear that on his kneecaps.

“Maybe let’s move this upstairs,” Foggy said over the doubled begging in the back.

That was a great idea.

Achara’s hands shook when Kirsten handed her a mug of tea. Leilani pressed up against Sam’s arm and he lifted it to settle around her shoulders.

“Sorry,” he told her. “I should have warned you.”

“It’s okay, it’s, uh, better actually,” she said.

It was.

“What _are_ you?” Achara blurted out his way.

He couldn’t help the flinch.

“Sam is a highly trained martial artist,” Foggy said, then paused. “Well, _now_ he is anyways. Highly, I mean. I’m sure you were well trained before all this, Sammy, don’t take it the wrong way. Matt is just, you know.”

Fuckin’ intense?

Like a one man boot camp?

“It’s fine,” Sam said.

Kirsten tapped at her lip and then deferred to Foggy.

“Ro-sham-bo for who’s going down to talk him off that guy,” she said.

Foggy rolled his eyes.

“I’ll go get him,” he said. “Handle this please?”

Kirsten hummed. Foggy left them for downstairs and his absence left a crevasse between Sam and Achara. He felt bad. His lungs felt heavy.

“So Achara,” Kirsten said conversationally, “You know how you love reading all those websites about our hometown?”

Achara turned her way stiffly.

“Which ones?” she asked.

Kirsten grinned indulgently.

“You know which,” she said.

Achara’s forehead crumpled.

“Mr. Murdock’s one of them?” she asked.

“UP. Leave him— _leave him_ ,” Foggy’s voice ordered downstairs.

Achara looked like she was gonna cry.

“We had to make a split-second decision back in New York,” Kirsten said. “And when we made it, it was excruciating for all of us, but I think it was the most painful for Matt. You know, he would do anything for Hell’s Kitchen. Born and raised there.”

Achara’s breath caught and her hand found her way to her chest.

“You guys are from Hell’s Kitchen?” she asked.

“Matt and Foggy are,” Kirsten said. “I’m from more east. Sammy, more south. But Matt and Foggy were, let’s say, _known_ figures in their neighborhood. And even outside of it, in Matt’s case. Your sites are proof of that.”

Achara gasped.

“He’s the devil,” she breathed.

“Anger issues,” Kirsten said casually. “He does much better with the therapist out here, you have no idea. The other gal was afraid of him, I think.”

“But—but he’s blind,” Achara whispered.

Kirsten smirked.

“Oh, honey,” she said.

There was a commotion downstairs followed by someone hoarsely choking out platitudes and ‘thank yous.’ Sam heard Foggy tell the guy to get out and stay the fuck away. Matt told him to sleep with one eye open.

The door slammed.

Foggy asked Matt if that was strictly necessary and got the requisite cackle.

Achara shivered.

“Is he…dangerous?” she asked.

Kirsten lifted a brow.

“Only if you piss him off,” she said. “But generally speaking? No. Matt only cares about people trying to fuck with his turf. And you, my dear, are part of his turf. So you’re safe. It’s a good place to be, trust me on this one, the devil does _not_ give a shit about anything but territory and his people.”

“He’s Daredevil,” Achara said more to herself than anyone else. She frowned, then her head snapped up right at Sam and he hunkered in for the worst.

“YOU,” she said. “YOU lying BASTARD.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam said.

“YOU’RE—”

Don’t say it.

“You’re Blindspot,” Achara said, surprisingly softly.

Sam couldn’t look at her.

“You’ve been Blindspot this whole time,” Achara said. “That’s why you came to San Francisco—you came to find Daredevil.”

God, his teeth hurt.

“There wasn’t anyone else,” he forced himself to say. “And I only had one shot.”

The silence in the roof was suffocating.

“But you’ve got low vision,” Achara said. “Is that why you went looking for him?”

Kirsten cleared her throat.

“No, that was an after-effect,” she said, the paused. “Matt didn’t do that to him. There were other circumstances.”

Sam hated being talked about in this way. Like he was a large, clumsy doll.

“Is that why you picked Blindspot?”

What?

He looked up to see Achara frowning at him.

“Kirsten literally just said this was a separate deal,” he said. “No. Blindspot’s—”

“Threat handled,” Matt announced buoyantly in the doorway.

Foggy’s hand on his elbow looked like it was a threat in and of itself.

“Identity fucked,” Foggy deadpanned.

“Not for long,” Matt said cheerfully. “I’ve always got—”

“If you say ‘Mike,’ so help me _god_ , I will divorce you right here.”

“You’re Daredevil,” Achara snapped.

Matt cocked his head.

“Well, my dear,” he said. “As long as we’re throwing around wild ideas, I honestly prefer the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a piggy to track, wee wee wee, all the way home.”

“Matt,” Foggy said. “It’s enough. He’s not squealing.”

“Not when I’m done with him,” Matt said cheerfully. “Sammy, suit up. Work to do! Nightfall is a-coming! We’ve got a train to catch.”

Sammy watched Achara stare after Matt’s back as he hiked back downstairs and missed one of the stairs and swore. Foggy sighed.

“Sam, go with him,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t let him go farther than 19th.”

Copy that.

“I’m not fishing him out of the sea again. We’re too old for this. I’ll handle the rest. Go on.”

Sam extracted his arm from Leilani’s shoulder and met her eye for a moment before dropping his and dipping off after Matt’s heels.

Foggy said he would handle it.

So he would.

**AT:** you lied to me after all

 **SC:** yes

 **AT:** are you even sorry?

 **LW:** he didn’t do it on purpose achara

 **AT:** you keep defending him

 **LW:** sams my friend

 **AT:** how am I supposed to trust someone who lies?

 **SC:** you don’t have to trust me

 **AT:** you’re not even hot

 **SC:** sorry I’m human

 **AT:** are you? is mr. Murdock?

 **SC:** what is that supposed to mean?

 **AT:** you know

 **SC:** don’t talk shit

 **AT:** why? What’ll you do? Go back to new York? Kill me?

 **SC:** we don’t kill

 **AT:** that’s so stupid. Of course you kill people

 **SC:** the only person who I’ve ever killed was my mother, achara. Have some fucking respect. I do this shit day in and day out so that people like you can walk home safe. You think I want to be here? No. I came here for a teacher. I risked everything for this so I can go right back home and risk everything every day there. So you don’t get to tell me what’s stupid.

 **LW:** sam its okay

 **SC:** it’s not okay

 **SC:** and I’m sorry for not telling you everything about me, but also it wasn’t ever your business to start with

 **AT:** you’re a jerk

 **SC:** sure am 😊

 **LW:** no, he’s not. Achara, he’s doing this on purpose to push you away.

 **AT:** well its working

 **LW:** sam don’t do this. you saved us back there. You’re amazing and Mr. Murdock is too and we appreciate you guys keeping us safe

 **LW:** sam?

 **LW:** Sammy please don’t do this

 **LW:** sam come back

 **AT:** such a jerk

 **LW:** don’t say that. That guy could have shot me or you. He had a knife. He was there to hurt us.

 **AT:** he only came because of Sam and Mr. Murdock

 **LW:** no he only came because of Matt. Don’t lump Sam in with that

 **AT:** why not? Apparently Mr. Murdock only gives jobs to people who become vigilantes. Are you one too?

 **LW:** what a horrible thing to say

 **LW:** especially from someone who thinks that spiderman is the best man alive. What’s the difference between him and Matt and Sam, achara?

 **AT:** everything.

 **AT:** he’s actually good at what he does.

 **LW:** I can’t talk to you right now if you’re just going to talk shit about my boss and my friend. Just admit that you’ve been brainwashed into thinking that only able bodied white boys can be heroes.

 **AT:** they aren’t heroes Leilani.

 **LW:** my friends are only heroes.

 **LW:** sam text me. I love you, boo. Regardless.

Sam loved her, too.

“Sammy, what’s the matter with you? You sick?” Matt asked at 8:30am—dog walking time.

Sam buried his head into the pillows.

“Feel like shit,” he said.

“Mm. Alright, rest up.”

“Matt?”

“Hm?”

“Achara hates us,” Sam said to the wall.

Matt hummed.

“Funny how everyone loves vigilantes until they know one,” he said. “It happens. Shit’s rough. She’s not the first or the last.”

Sam hugged his pillow to his chest.

“She said Spiderman’s better than us,” he said into it.

Matt’s sigh sounded tired and the clank of the leashes being set down made Sam crunch further into a ball. Matt opened the door all the way and ignored when Sam tucked his feet up to give him room to sit. He flopped down heavy right on top of him.

The noise Sam made was involuntary.

“So?” Matt asked his grumbling.

“So what if she’s right?” Sam snapped at him.

“So then she’s right. The fuck does it matter to us? We’re not trying to be Peter. We’re trying to be DD and BT,” Mat said.

A compelling argument indeed.

“What if she quits and tells other people?” Sam asked.

“She won’t tell other people,” Matt said gently. “Firstly, she needs a reference from us for her next job, and secondly, Sammy, she’s scared. Anger is a normal response to fear. It ain’t cool to feel helpless, you know this. I know this. Kid’s a fuckin’ kid. Let her throw her tantrum and move on. If she won’t accept you, so what? You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing it for the folks who do care.”

That was true.

Sam scrunched up as best as he could under Matt’s lead-weight.

“Come,” Matt said. “Shoes. Dogs. You’ll feel better.”

Alright, if he said so.

“Atta boy. Up, up, up.”

**AT:** you didn’t come into work today. where are you?

 **LW:** he said he was sick

 **AT:** yeah but that’s not true

 **SC:** I’m sick

 **AT:** I just said that that’s not true

 **SC:** oh okay

 **SC:** you want the truth?

 **SC:** I got fucking stabbed last night.

 **LW:** omg Sammy no!!

 **SC:** its fine I had someone look at it. Teach stitched it up

 **AT:** how is that even possible?

 **SC:** he’s got practice.

 **AT:** so you’re coming back this week tho

 **SC:** why do you care?

 **LW:** guys please

 **SC:** is it the money?

 **AT:** pretty much. And we have to do your work when you’re not here.

 **SC:** good

 **AT:** you’re such an asshole

 **LW:** guys

 **SC:** ❤

 **AT:** what a dick

Matt said to stop worrying about it. Go in, do the job, and leave. It was totally possible, and if Achara didn’t get over herself then she would leave herself. Easy as that.

Foggy and Kirsten seemed beyond chill about it all. They hadn’t said a single thing so far.

Sam felt awkward and heavy, though. He just had to follow their lead. These guys were the ones with experience here and Matt was right. He wasn’t here for people like Achara. He was here for the people back home. The ones who left shrines out for him with little offerings—fruit, poems, a few coins here and there.

Those were his people. That’s why he did this.

He smoothed a hand over the bandage on his shoulder thoughtfully.

Leilani looked relieved to see him the next morning and he smiled at her.

Achara didn’t even look away from her screen, but Sam refused to let it bother him. He had work. There was always work.

Sam closed Matt’s door behind himself and picked through the folders in his hands on the way back to his desk. He nearly collided with Achara who was standing there, waiting for him with her arms crossed and her forehead wrinkled.

He sighed and gave in to the inevitable and tried to pass her.

She stood in his way.

“You call him ‘sensei,’” she said. “I heard you. You’re Chinese, though.”

For fuck’s sake.

“He called his teacher ‘sensei,’ so I call him ‘sensei,’” Sam said flatly. “It’s a sign of respect. Move.”

“But you’re Chinese,” Achara said. “Why don’t you call him sensei in Chinese?”

This wasn’t about that.

“Because,” Sam explained slowly, “He calls his teacher ‘sensei.’ So I call him ‘sensei.’ It’s a sign. Of. Respect.”

“It’s not respectful to you.”

Girl, just _move_.

“Don’t you care that he’s some white guy?”

 _Move_.

“Did he blackmail you into this or something? Do you have to be Blindspot to keep your job?”

Sam felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“I have _always_ been Blindspot,” he snapped, harsher than he realized.

Achara took a step back with wide eyes.

Sam reeled himself back in.

“You don’t care about this,” he said. “Drop it and get out of the way.”

Achara’s lip trembled.

“You’re a fucking jerk when it comes down to it, aren’t you?” she asked in a wobbly voice. “Are you all like that?”

Sam clenched his jaw.

She didn’t matter. She didn’t care, so she didn’t matter.

He brushed past and said nothing.

Leilani touched his shoulder ten minutes later in the backroom. He dropped his face into his hand at his desk.

“She’s scared, Sam,” Leilani murmured. “She’s just scared.”

“I’m scared every day and every night,” Sam said.

Leilani’s arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“But you’re so brave,” she said by his ear. “Please. Be brave for her.”

Achara was outside on the side of the buildings behind a regiment of recycling cans. It wasn’t a glamorous place to cry. Sam stepped around them and crouched down beside her. Achara sniffed and scrubbed at her face.

“Go away,” she said.

Sam said nothing.

“You don’t fucking care, go _away_. You—you—”

“Monster?” Sam offered her.

There was a pause.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Achara said.

“You know, for someone who’s scared out of their mind, you’re handling this pretty well,” Sam said, settling his weight back onto his heels.

“I’m not scared.”

“You’re right, I am,” Sam said.

“Don’t patronize me.”

He tipped his head to the side to watch Achara glare at the concrete at her feet.

“I miss home,” he said, looking back up at the gray sky. “It would be sunny by now. Hot as fuck. We don’t have AC, only a radiator. We just throw open all the windows and try to make a cross breeze. Sometimes you get lucky.”

“You talk _so_ much,” Achara snapped. “You talk _so_ much and you never say anything.”

Sam flicked his eyes back her way without moving his head. He let his neck relax and his face fall down.

It was now or never.

He started to take out his contacts.

“What are you doing?”

They hurt. They were always dry coming out.

“S—Sam?”

He squeezed his eyes shut to let them adjust. To make them water. Then he brought his face back up. Achara lunged back, gasping.

“Wh—what are—what are those?” she gasped.

Sam blinked once.

“My penance,” he said. “These are the last things I have of my mom. You read the papers, didn’t you? A while back? There was a guy called—”

“Muse.”

Muse.

The world froze.

Sam suddenly wanted to fucking puke.

There was blood on his face.

Blood. It was warm and gushing down his face.

Screaming—he was screaming. It was dark. Everything was gone.

There was blood tumbling over his lips. It was slick and choking. It was getting onto his mouth but he couldn’t wipe it away. It was soaking his lips. He couldn’t scream. There was something over his mouth.

It was dark.

It was dark and no one could hear him. There was something over his mouth. Soaked. It was soaked and no one could hear him scream through it.

Only—

Only—

 _Only_ —

“Sam?”

_Muse._

“SAM??”

It was dark and Muse was talking and there was blood drenching the gap in his lips and it was dark and it was gone everything was gone and he was screaming he was _screaming_ and no one was coming even though he was _screaming_.

“Sam. Sam, please. St-stop? What’s going on with you? What’s— _stop._ Someone—Leilani? LEILANI?”

He couldn’t stop screaming.

“Jesus, Achara, what did you do? Sam? Sammy, what’s happening? SAM? MATT.”

It was dark.

It was dark.

It was gone.

They were gone.

There was blood. And his—his eyes were—they were emp—

“Fuckin’ hell—what did you say to him?”

“I don’t—”

“ _Achara, what did you say to him_? I need to know. Tell me, right now. RIGHT NOW.”

Screaming screaming SCREAMING.

“Sam. Look at me. Look at—kid. What’re you—AH. No, let me—Sam, I’m trying to help you—”

“His eyes are closed, Matt.”

Emp—

**Empty.**

His eyes were **empty.**

He couldn’t puke. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe.

There was a gag and it was soaked with blood. His blood. From his--

“His—? Sam. listen to me. You’re having a flashback. Listen to me, it’s DD. It’s sensei. Come here, I’ve got you. I got you then. I came, didn’t I? And you were so brave. You were so brave, kiddo.”

Scared.

He was scared.

Mom. Where was Mom?

Mom?

“You’re breakin’ my heart, Sam, come on. It’s okay. You’re not there anymore; he’s gone.”

Mom??

“What’s happening? Mr. Murdock? What’s happening?”

“Hon, come here, let him talk to Sam. He’s having a panic attack.”

Someone?

Was there someone there?

“Atta boy, atta kid. I’m right here. Open your eyes, Sammy. Listen to me, bud. You’re okay. He’s gone. You’re so brave. You saved those people. And I saved you didn’t I?”

DD?

“There you are. Yeah, it’s me. Come here, lemme touch you.”

**NO.**

“ _Jesus_.”

“Matt.”

“He’s fine, he’s fine. Stay back. He’s fine. Sam. Lemme touch you, hon. I know it’s scary. But he ain’t here. I’m not lettin’ him touch you again— _ever_ again. You have my word. Cross my fuckin’ heart. Have I ever let you down?”

No.

No.

No.

He was still—Muse— _Muse_ —was still out there. God, everywhere. He was everywhere.

He was _everywhere._

“Matt.”

“I’ve got this.”

“He’s going to hurt himself, move.”

“I’ve got this.”

“You don’t—just admit you don’t. Jesus, Matthew, I’ve been here for 20 fucking years, he’s going to hurt himself. Move. MOVE. Thank you.”

Who?

“Hey Sammy, it’s me, Foggy. You’re hallucinating right now, honey. Can you gimme one of them hands?”

 _Muse_.

“No, I ain’t Muse—does Muse talk like me?”

Does—

Wh—

N-No?

“There you go, there you go. Who talks like me? Does your mama talk like me?”

Mo-Mom?

Mom??

“Does she sound like me, Sam?”

Sound like—sound like Mom? No.

“Who sounds like me?”

Muse.

“I ain’t Muse.”

No.

“Can I have one of them hands, Sammy? Just one. You don’t have to give me both. I just want one.”

But—the blood would come out. If he took his hand away—they were empty. His eyes were empty they were **empty _._**

“Not anymore slugger, they’re not empty. Here, gimme one of those hands and I’ll show you. There you go, thank you. Look, look. Let’s touch something else so you remember, here, let’s touch the ground. This is the ground. Does that feel empty?”

No.

It—rough.

“Good. Okay, let’s touch your eyes. Can you touch your eye again?”

No. Because they were gone—they were gone, Foggy, they were gone. He was screaming. Muse was laughing and they were gone they were gone.

They were _gone_.

“Jesus.”

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Achara, stay back.”

“Matt—how—help him.”

“Christ.”

“Matty, _please.”_

“I’m—”

Empty.

DD, help. Please. Someone come. They’re empty. They’re so empty.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry, kid. This is gonna be really scary, don’t fight it, okay?”

Muse. MUSE. MUSE. CAN’T BREATHE. CAN’T SCREAM. SENSEI.

SENSEI.

SEN—

The world was hazy. Lines of blue, gray, white.

Blinking made things warmer. Browner. This was carpet. It was like sandpaper on his cheek. Someone was sniffling.

“Oh, he’s waking up. Mr. Murdock? Matt? He’s waking up.”

The world was dry. His throat hurt. A dull ache.

“Sam?”

“Sammy?”

Blinking took all of the effort in the world. Sam’s eyes hurt so bad, it was like they had grit in them or something. They burned around the edges and it felt like he’d been punched in the nose because the skin in his sockets was swelling on both sides.

Matt’s red hair suddenly came into view. He laid his cheek on the floor and startled Sam.

“Wh—” Sam started before gasping.

It was like his throat collapsed in on itself.

Matt’s hand caught his shoulder.

“Easy,” he said. “You’re okay. Aw, Sammy, I’m so sorry, hon. Come here, I’m so sorry.”

Matt’s arm crammed itself in between Sam’s ribs and the floor and it hurt. Sam scrabbled to catch ahold of the arm, but it was too late. Matt was lifting him upright. The world tipped and swam. Sam couldn’t talk. He caught onto Matt’s shoulder with his other arm and held on tight.

“I gotcha, slugger,” Matt’s voice said by his ear. “Fogs? Is it bad?”

Foggy breathed through his teeth.

“It’s bad,” he said.

What was bad? Was it everything? Because it felt like everything.

Who was crying? Was it him? No, it wasn’t him, his eyes were too dry. His head felt heavy and stuffed. Holding it up was hard.

“Hey, lean on me,” Matt’s voice said, pulling Sam forward.

A familiar pull. He let himself go with it. His cheek landed on something hard. Matt’s shoulder? Was he in Matt’s lap?

Were they on the floor?

Weren’t they at work?

“You’re real disoriented,” Matt explained to him in a strangely thick accent, rubbing a sure hand in circles on his back. “That’s normal. You’re okay, though, Fogs is gonna get you some water.”

Water sounded grand. Sam wanted to dunk his whole face in some. His throat burned. Matt helped him lift his head when the shape of Foggy appeared fuzzily in his line of vision.

The water helped, even if it was hard to swallow.

“You’re good, kid,” Matt said.

He was way too close. His arms were all wrapped around Sam’s body; he was nearly holding him under his chin like a child.

Hey, what the fuck? Who’d rattled the old guy?

“I’ll call a cab,” Foggy said quietly.

“No, no. He can stay here with me,” Kirsten said. “Matt, can you take him upstairs?”

Take--? Woah, woah. Everyone hold on here. Sam was fine. Woozy like he’d gotten punched in the head, but other than that—

“You heard the lady. Arms around my neck, you know the drill,” Matt said.

What, here? At work? Surely this was work? Was Sam trippin’? This was office flooring wasn’t it?

“Sam, I’m sorry,” someone with a wheezy voice said.

He almost missed it between Matt’s obnoxious rock arm migrating to his knees and the rush of him hauling Sam up like a floppy bag of rice. It never felt good, but this time the motion made Sam want to puke for some reason. He tucked himself into Matt’s trap automatically and started to brace but was caught short by a gasp of pain he realized belatedly had come from himself.

He blinked in shock when he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

He came to again on a bed. It was dark. He was warm. Too warm. Hot even. There was something moving around him, touching his face.

His cheek.

It was a thumb.

He caught it and it stopped stroking his cheek.

“Sensei?” he rasped into the dark.

Matt said nothing. He was stiff beyond the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

That was bad. Sam’s stomach sank.

“It’s dark,” he said quietly.

“Come up here,” Matt said lowly.

His chest was hard with muscle and bone. It was uncomfortable to lay across; too intimate. Sam’s brain couldn’t make sense of it. That thumb was back on his cheek, too, scraping and smoothing rhythmically.

“What’s happening?” Sam asked.

Matt said nothing still. Sam reached for the space where his face was supposed to be. His fingers found it before his eyes. He could feel the bend in Matt’s jaw. The rough stubble. The fold of a laugh line falling into the softness of Matt’s cheek. It was comforting somehow.

Until Matt took in a shuddery breath and the hand stroking Sam’s face wrapped around into his hair.

It was trembling.

So.

This was bad.

Sam’s neck was nearly black. The marks on it were ugly and the whole thing was swollen. Try as he might, though, Sam couldn’t see any of that as anything Matt would ever leave on him.

Matt had left loads of bruises on his body before; usually tricky places that Sam didn’t defend fast enough. Places where he’d fallen after Matt had swept him off his balance. This looked nothing like any of those marks.

The marks on his face, however--those weren’t Matt. Sam had done those to himself.

Touching them felt like nothing. It was like he was floating.

Kirsten made him stop.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the bathroom mirror. “I don’t know what happened. I just wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone.”

Kirsten’s eyes were red around the edges.

“Sam,” she said firmly, “You don’t owe _anyone_ your story, do you understand me? Anyone. Especially when you’re not ready to tell it. Do you understand?”

Yes.

Now he did.

He didn’t—he shouldn’t have—

Kirsten’s hug shocked the words out of him.

“I was so worried,” she said with not even a lilt of her usual joking. “I was so scared, Sammy.”

His hands found their way around her ribs. He squeezed his eyes closed.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“You’re so sweet,” Kirsten hiccupped. “You’re _so_ sweet. I’m so sorry he did that to you. I’m so sorry you got wrapped up in all this.”

But those—those were Sam’s decisions. Not Kirsten’s. There was no one to apologize for or to.

Kirsten let go of him and wipe at his eyes before her own.

“Go sleep for a little bit more,” she said with a terrible quaver to her voice. “You need some rest, okay?”

Matt was putting distance between them. It was as though he was scared.

Foggy explained in his absence that he’d had to choke Sam out to keep him from digging his fingers into his sockets. It was—

Yeah. Not good.

It brought up stuff. For Matt.

He blamed himself for Sam’s original loss of sight. He blamed himself for everything that had gone down with Muse. He blamed himself for Mom’s death.

Foggy’s eyes dropped tiredly as he explained that Matt had justified his and Sam’s maze of a relationship by setting his roles in a specific order. First, he was Teacher. Then Mentor. Then Boss. Friend. Confidante.

Father.

Sam felt his own breath shake at the word.

“He doesn’t want to become Stick,” Foggy said. “Laying hands on you like that came so close.”

So Matt was hiding, trying to glue his own pieces back together into something that could carry that familiar, swash-buckling gait again. Sam curled his fingers into fists.

He didn’t go into work the next day and no one expected him to. Matt didn’t either. Foggy knocked on Sam’s door on the way out and told him to remember to eat. Sam waited until the front door had closed before scrambling out of his chair and up the stairs.

As a rule, he didn’t go into Matt and Foggy’s bedroom.

That was the rule. Downstairs and upstairs stayed separate. Matt and Fogs were the ones with the main lease. Matt and Fogs could come and knock on Sam’s door if they needed him, but their own door? That was off-limits. Not that they’d ever said that. Sam didn’t need them to. He could work out boundaries just fine on his own.

Sam was surprised to find the door unlocked, however, when he pushed down on the handle. It clacked loudly.

Matt and Foggy’s room wasn’t anything special. There was no canopy bed or satin sheets or lush carpeting or anything like that. For a master bedroom, it was cramped, what with the two dog beds and Foggy’s collection of banker’s boxes of files from the old firm.

Their bed was dark with a heavy reddish duvet. Foggy’s side, the one closer to the door, had been smoothed out and half-made.

Matt’s side rose and fell slowly.

Sam pressed his lips together.

An eye for an eye, Teach.

He crossed the room and flopped down with all the weight he could muster onto Matt’s side.

He was rewarded with sharp, confused movement under the duvet. But Sam didn’t move at the jerking or the sudden hand feeling along the nape of his neck. Matt must have been sleeping before this assault. He would have reacted sooner if he’d been awake. Sam felt the tension bleed out of the tendons in his wrist.

“Can I help you, sir?” Matt’s rasp asked.

Hazel stood up and started shoving her nose into Sam’s leg. He hissed at her and adjusted his weight.

“Sam.”

Nope. Only suffocating, old man. That was all. An eye for an eye.

“Sam.”

Oh, that one had come doused in amusement. They were getting somewhere.

“What are you doin’, kid?”

The drawl was slipping in. Amusement and the drawl were good signs.

Matt’s duvet was kind of uncomfortable on the outside. It felt like rubbing your face the wrong way across silk.

Matt sighed.

“Go on,” he said from behind it. “Talk.”

Nope. No one wanted to talk. 

“Sammy, you’re a little big to be crawlin’ into my bed, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re a great teacher,” Sam said into the red duvet.

Matt stiffened under him.

“I never thought I’d end up here in a million years,” Sam said, tracing the lines of silk with a hand.

Matt sighed and shifted and pushed the covers off. His chest was bare, but not entirely as it was layered with scars upon scars. Sam let himself be nudged off his side. He sat up and folded his legs as Matt folded his own across from him.

“You deserve better than this,” Matt said seriously.

Sam didn’t often see him without his glasses. His irises were a mix of brown, orange, and green, but his pupils never seemed to dilate or contract. The insides of them were filmy and blue—iridescent in their own way.

Matt’s hand sought Sam’s face and Sam caught it and guided it forward. He pressed his cheek into the fingers.

“If I hadn’t led you so far into this life, you’d still have your mother,” Matt said. “You’d still have your eyes.”

His fingers were rough like the grain of the duvet.

“Maybe,” Sam told him, “But how many lives have I saved since I got here?”

“Your life is worth more than what you offer others,” Matt murmured.

“Yours, too,” Sam pushed back.

They’d reached an impasse.

“I’m sorry to keep touching you—I’ll stop.”

“Teach, you’re blind. Touch is your world. I don’t mind anymore.”

Matt’s face creased in a thousand places as he breathed in enough air to sigh.

“You hate when I hug you,” he said.

Mmm. Well. That had more to do with being babied and cuddled. The only person allowed to do that past 12 years old was gone now. Matt’s touch wasn’t the same as Mom’s. His fences were in different places.

“As long as you don’t treat me like a kid, it’s fine,” Sam said.

Matt’s fingers flexed.

“Can I hug you now?” he asked.

Of course. Bring it in.

Sam didn’t expect the tidal wave. He could barely breathe. His fingers had to work to uncurl themselves.

“Sensei—” he started.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sam closed his eyes.

“You were trying to help,” he said.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’ll heal,” Sam gasped.

“I wish I knew some other way,” Matt’s voice rumbled, vibrating his throat by Sam’s ear. Sam heard Tuesday shifting her old bones up, and in short time he felt her join Hazel in nosing at the humans on the bed.

They responded to Matt’s distress. Sam wanted to tell them that it was okay, he’d look after the old guy, but they wouldn’t understand and Matt was an overflowing bucket of guilt and grief.

It was weird to be so close and to know that that gushing spring came out of concern for him, Sam Chung.

“Matt,” he said after a moment.

Matt released him and cleared his throat. Sam looked up to find his eyes exactly as they’d been before. You couldn’t read emotion in them; it was the muscles around them that did that work.

“I know your teacher hurt you, but I don’t feel hurt,” Sam said. “Well—I mean, obviously it _hurts_ , but I don’t feel like _you_ did it—I mean, like you wanted it to hurt. You were trying to help me, and it was this way or calling an ambulance, but you knew I wouldn’t want an ambulance. So you didn’t call one. That’s why I trust you, teach. Still. I trusted you back when this all started, and I trust you now. And like, I dunno, man. Maybe I don’t have Mom or sight like before, but it was _my_ choice to come out of the shadows. _I_ came to you, don’t forget that. These are my decisions, too. We’re a team. And since I came here, I’ve made so many friends and done so many things—saved so many people—that I never could have if I hadn’t met you. So, like—I dunno what I’m trying to say,” he trailed off.

“I do,” Matt said.

Did he, though?

“I just wish there was something I could do for you to not have to go through this fear.”

There it was.

This wasn’t about the bruises. It was about the panic attack. It had been from the start.

“I got triggered,” Sam said.

“I could kill him,” Matt admitted.

“You don’t kill people,” Sam pointed out.

“Gimme ten minutes with him,” Matt huffed. “Tell God to look away.”

Sam couldn’t help the huff of laughter.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “But Mu— _he_ ’s out of our hands, dude.”

Matt’s eyebrows softened.

“One day,” he told Sam, catching ahold of his jaw, “You will say his name and not be afraid. One day, I will make that a reality. I swear that on my father’s grave, Sam.”

Yeah, that sounded mega-healthy.

“Or,” Sam said, moving the hand away from his face, “We accept that I’m fucked up like every other vigilante out there and maybe need look into how to come down from panic attacks?”

Matt’s face became a blue screen of death.

He’d been in therapy for how long now? God, that poor woman was trying to move a mountain with a hand trowel wasn’t she? For the holidays someone needed to get her a dump-truck.

“Or—”

“That’s what I want,” Sam cut him off. “I want to learn how to deal with this. You know, so the resident body builder doesn’t have to choke me out every time I start to get squirrely. If that keeps going on, I’m gonna have a huge neck and spindly ankles and people are gonna think I keep skipping leg day.”

There was a pause interrupted by Tuesday trying to lift her old hips up onto the bed. Matt caught her front paws and pulled her up the rest of the way and she crawled over into his lap like a kitten. She thumped her tail against the mattress.

“Stop that or Papa will find out you’re in the no-fly zone,” Matt scolded her.

Oho. Look, a Foggy-boundary at last. Sam wasn’t sure sometimes that they still existed.

“Teach,” he said.

Matt’s expression went sour.

“If that’s what you want,” he grumbled.

That was better.

“That’s what I want,” Sam said. “I’m okay. You didn’t traumatize me. You’re not a bad teacher.”

Matt glared down towards the duvet.

“Can I ask why you guys hoard all your old files in here?” Sam prodded to lighten the mood. Matt’s glare flipped to vague alarm.

“We have what?” he asked.

Oh. Another Foggy-boundary?

A Foggy-lie, perhaps?

“They’re files?”

HHHHHH. That was a great question for the man at the office. In the meantime, Sam was going to see himself out.


End file.
